The Age of Lions
by Celestial Embers
Summary: An ancient Goa'uld, banished to the far reaches of the galaxy, decides that his extended family has disappointed him for far too long. "If those fools insist on playing at gods, they should at least have the decency to do it properly."
1. Prologue: The Garden

A.N. Thank you for taking the time to check this story out! As a teenager I was absolutely obsessed with Stargate, and now as a young adult I enjoy reading about mythology. Let's just say that I've had this particular plot bunny around for a long, long time, and I've been contemplating whether to post it or not.

One of the gripes I recall having with the show was that the mythology aspect wasn't explored as much as I'd have liked it to be. Now, when I rewatch it, SG-1's plot armor also becomes so blatant that I don't see how my teen self didn't realize it. I suppose what I'm getting at, is that this story aims to solve both those issues.

The premise of this story is that SG-1 are not in focus, but rather the Goa'uld, and one of them in particular. It's an original character, based on true Egyptian mythology, and his backstory and role among the other Goa'uld will become more detailed later on. I've taken plenty of inspiration from stories like Empress in the Shadows and Endless Pantheon, so if you enjoy those, I'd wager that you'll at least have a fun time reading this.

Finally, I'd just ask that all you hardcore fans out there forgive me if I don't always stay true to the continuity. I need a bit of creative freedom here and there - for the sake of the plot, of course!

I hope you enjoy the prologue!

/CE

* * *

The Garden was a peaceful and quiet planet. Amongst its inhabitants it was not uncommon to hear words of praise and gratitude, for being granted the privilege of living upon it. They were not forced words, but genuine ones, and it was not hard to understand why.

Lush fields of grass stretched as far as the eye could see, covering hills and plains until they would meet tall mountains in the distance and merge with clouds of purest white. Amidst the thick blades of grass one could sort out a vast variety of flora, growing with such vitality that every individual plant seemed to actively reach out for the gleaming sun above it.

The ethereal beauty stemmed from the fact that the planet's landscape was virtually unmarred, save for a little speck on one of its five continents, too small to be visible from space even as naught but a glimmer of light. That same tiny and insignificant speck also marked the only point of civilization the Garden harbored.

The city - Aaru - was built around a central monument. The intricately detailed, golden buildings stretched around the monument in almost arbitrary patterns, forming a sort of steadily expanding maze. Every inch of their walls appeared to tell a story, for there was not a single spot left blank, instead covered in straight, endless lines of hieroglyphs.

The monument itself was a thing of legends, towering into the sky at many hundreds of times the height of a man. It was a pyramid, with countless layers ever slimming until they eventually formed a sharp tip at the top. To the naked eye, the massive construct would seem to be made of stone. However, upon closer inspection, a perceptive mind would notice that the surface was much too smooth, and far too cool to the touch. Only metal the likes of which was not native to this world held such a property.

If the pyramid could be compared to a temple, the artificially constructed assortment of greenery surrounding it would be its orchard. Dozens of trees formed an enclosed pathway leading out and around of the structure, with many different kinds of fruits hanging down, ripe for the picking. One of the paths led to a humble porch, overlooking the entrance of the pyramid as well as the great city surrounding it.

Six figures stood calmly spread out across the porch, with one of the figures being surrounded by the other five. The figure in the center, a tall man, was clad sparingly, wearing only a set of white boots and pants tied to his waist by a golden sash. Around his wrists, biceps and neck he wore equally golden bands of metal, the style of which also matched the device fastened to his left hand. The only piece of garment covering his upper body was a circular shoulder plate, reaching down over his chest and back. Thick, raven hair flowed down to the man's shoulders, swept back by the wind in a manner that made it resemble a lion's mane.

He was Shezmu, god of this world.

The five people forming a circle around him were Shezmu's elite guard of Jaffa, and closest confidants. Perhaps he even considered them friends. They wore heavy-plated golden armor, shielding the entirety of their bodies. Helmets shaped after the head of a lion covered their faces, open in a constant roar, with four sharp metal fangs protruding threateningly. In their hands they each held a staff, as long as their wielders were tall.

Suddenly, all five of the guards slammed their weapons into the ground, causing a slight indentation on the pavement. With a crackle of electricity, the ends of the staves enlarged, now glowing a deep orange color. Pointing them at Shezmu, each Jaffa let loose a powerful blast of energy.

The god merely placed his right hand atop his left, and erected a protective shield around him. The wall of light fizzled slightly as the blasts made contact, but held strong. The moment he removed his hand, and the light died out, all six warriors leapt at him with fierce battle cries.

He immediately knew who the first Jaffa to reach him was. His First Prime had a very distinct way of moving, especially in combat, as though she were trying to emulate water. Her graceful steps were something to admire, and Shezmu felt a burst of pride in his chest, knowing that she had reached this level of proficiency by his hand.

Not that it helped her land a blow, of course. A slight lean to the side and the staff only barely grazed a few strands of his hair.

"You'll have to do better than that, Seshem." he mocked her, twirling rapidly to avoid another two of his guards as they attempted to stab him in the back and abdomen.

He could practically feel the woman's glare behind the helmet, as she straightened herself and discreetly motioned for the others to place themselves behind him.

"Oh, I will, my Lord. Just you wait." she answered.

Shezmu found himself continuously dodging lightning fast staff strikes, all the while eagerly anticipating to see what new strategy his guards had come up with. Just as he flipped over a slightly underhanded swipe to his legs, Seshem suddenly fired a bolt from her staff into the ground, launching a pile of dirt and dust straight into his face.

Were he ten thousand years younger, that might actually have caught him off guard. As it was, he could easily hear the rapidly approaching footsteps from both in front and behind of him and quickly rolled to the side. Raising his Kara'kesh, he sent a moderate blast of kinetic energy in the direction he came from, and snickered at the sight of his warriors flailing through the air and landing a distance away on the ground, groaning.

In fact, Shezmu was so amused, that this time he failed to hear the far lighter and softer steps making their way to him, and much less the subsequent kick to the back of his legs that made him loose his footing. He would have fallen unceremoniously were it not for the same person grasping his arm and throwing him over their shoulder.

However, he would be damned if he went down that easily. Grabbing the guard by the neck, he made sure the two of them fell together. By a stroke of luck, he landed on top, and could get up almost immediately.

"That was impressive! Let me guess, you're Qe'det, aren't you?" Shezmu asked, already having an inkling as to which of his elites he was staring down at.

This was the reason his guards all wore the exact same armor. If they did not, he would know exactly what kind of moves to expect and not have as much of a challenge.

The downed Jaffa nodded, getting to her feet. "Of course, my Lord. Who else but your Chief of Strategy could possibly produce such a feat?" she said.

His other guards had now made their way back to him.

"Now, now, Qe'det, we were all in on that, weren't we? Can't have you hogging all the glory." a man spoke. Shezmu recognized his voice as belonging to Medes, his Chief of Defense.

Which meant the unidentified remaining two were Sa'ret and Petekh, his Chief of Intelligence and Chief of Integrity, respectively.

"Alright, that's enough for today. Retract your helmets." he ordered, and a second later all the lion's heads folded back to reveal five familiar faces.

He let his eyes briefly flash golden, to which they all stood at attention. Shezmu then smiled.

"This is the first time you've managed to strike me. You have made me proud, and I'm sure I'd be hard-pressed to find more competent Jaffa anywhere in the galaxy."

The look of happiness on their faces was almost rewarding in itself, and he found himself wondering once again how the rest of his kind could be so stubbornly foolish. A true god was as equally bound to his subjects as they were to him. Their happiness was his happiness, their growth was his growth, and their power was also his power.

Eons ago he had attempted to explain this to the other Goa'uld, but they would not listen. Even when they began to ponder why no Jaffa would ever betray him, or why there were never any human uprisings within his domain, they refused to accept his reasoning.

They were too set in their ways, or perhaps, their brains too damaged from overuse of the sarcophagus. Maybe he was an exception, like Egeria before him, who had gone on to establish the Tok'ra resistance. Not for the first time, Shezmu cursed Thoth to oblivion for his invention.

"My Lord, is something the matter?" Seshem asked, stepping forward with a concerned look on her face, and he quickly snapped out of his musings.

"No, it's nothing. I suppose we're finished, then. You may return to your duties, or use the remainder of the day as you please."

All but his First Prime bowed and left, most no doubt leaving to go about their own business.

"Shezmu, let's cut the crap. What's bothering you? You were all cheery and now you've got that same solemn look on your face as you do when you're thinking about them."

The emphasis Seshem put on the last word let him know that she knew exactly what he was thinking about.

He might have laughed at her bluntness, were they in another place, at another time. As it was, the god turned his back to her, and stared up into the sky. The warmth of the sun against his skin was but one of the things he had truly learnt to appreciate since being banished to the Garden.

"All we ever did was kill. For millennia, we took slaves, only to torture and kill them once they outlived their usefulness. After a while, we even began to turn on each other. Tell me, does that sound healthy to you?" he asked, wanting but not really expecting an answer, although the ensuing silence ended up conveying meaning as well as words ever could.

"And now, the tables have turned. The Goa'uld are being hunted, by humans no less. I would've found the irony poetic were it not for the grief and anger it causes me."

Shezmu swiveled around to face his First Prime, meeting her brown eyes with his own pair of glowing, golden orbs.

"I resent my kind for what they did to us. I despise them, for what they chose to become. But most of all, I hate myself for not doing anything about it."

His normally controlled voice grew louder, and he subconsciously began altering his host's vocal cords until the sound they produced became a magnitude deeper and echoed.

"However, they are still my family! Despite their faults, I don't want to see them killed off by some humans!" he growled.

"It's already bad enough that Ra and Hathor are dead, and I'll be surprised if Sokar hasn't killed Apophis yet. And that's only mentioning a few of them!" he shouted, letting loose a long time's worth of pent up emotion in front of the only person he would ever willingly show a moment of weakness.

While breathing heavily to steady himself, Shezmu nearly missed Seshem's soft-spoken words.

"Then save them."

At first, he thought he had misheard her. He stared at her with wide eyes.

"Y-you would-" he hesitantly began to ask, her encouragement having shocked the depth out of his voice.

She nodded. "We all would. We've been making regular reconnaissance missions with the Stargate already. You know there isn't anyone monitoring this system anymore."

He was about to protest on her behalf when she cut him off.

"And don't worry about us. We know what we're getting ourselves into. Besides, weren't you the one who said we're the most competent Jaffa in the galaxy?" she asked cheekily, tucking a stray strand of her long chestnut hair behind her ear.

Acting on impulse, Shezmu strode forward and threw his arms around his First Prime in a tight embrace. If he had eyes on the back of his neck, he would have noticed her smooth, round cheeks turn a vivid shade of red.

"Thank you. Thank you so much." he whispered repeatedly into her ear.

They stood together in each other's arms for a long time, both taking pleasure in the company of the other, once in a while whispering silly platitudes and remarks. A light draft of wind tousled their hair and provided a cool, refreshing sensation in contrast to the blazing sun.

They might have stood there for the entire day, if not for a young errand runner hurrying in their direction to greet them. Upon seeing their compromising position, the boy's jaw dropped to the ground and his eyes bulged almost comically.

Meanwhile, Seshem remained blissfully unaware of the boy's presence and continued snuggling against the crook of Shezmu's neck, rubbing soothing circles along his bare back. The god let out an involuntary rumble of laughter and gently pried himself free of the hug.

"We have a visitor." he said softly, enjoying his friend's reaction as she turned and jerked in horrified surprise.

"You saw nothing." she said, fixing the poor lad with one of her threatening glares. The boy nodded so hastily that managing to keep his head on his shoulders was, in fact, somewhat of an impressive feat.

He cleared his throat. "My Lord, Chief Sa'ret is requesting your presence. She claims to have received important information."

Shezmu shared a glance with his First Prime, and nodded in acknowledgement.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention. What is your name, child?" he asked, not being able to recall this particular runner ever approaching him before.

"Kha'x, my Lord." the boy responded, smiling. He then continued in a more dejected tone of voice. "Chief Sa'ret is my great-aunt."

That revelation explained a whole lot. Sa'ret took every opportunity she could to instruct her younger relatives in the art of spying and interrogation. He was actually dreading what sort of legacy his Chief of Intelligence would leave behind.

"I see. That great-aunt of yours is too sly for her own good. Tell you what, why don't you stay here with Seshem and work on your martial arts, while I head off to see Sa'ret. Children your age should have fun, not listen to the droning of old crones."

Kha'x face lit up in a beaming smile, and he quickly hopped over to the woman beside him, grasping hold of her arm and whooping in joy and thanks. Shezmu chuckled as his First Prime was led away by the enthusiastic youth, all the while throwing desperate, helpless looks back at him over her shoulder.

Unfortunately, his merriment was short-lived. Sa'ret only bothered to contact him when the news was unpleasant. Settling into a brisk walk, he strode through the decorated pathways of the orchard back to the pyramid's main entrance.

It was strange, he thought, that he had spent so much time on the Garden that he had completely stopped referring to the structure for what it truly was.

A Cheops-class warship.

That had been his family's first mistake. Whether out of pity or as a show of supremacy, they had allowed him to keep a fragment of his original property. He had been taken aback when Ra arrived at the Garden shortly after his banishment, accompanied by his cadre of protectors.

Without a single word they stationed a lone warship, filled to the brim with his Jaffa, at this very place. Then again, they had not provided any Prim'ta, which led him to believe it was indeed a show of supremacy.

They had probably expected Shezmu to witness his subjects die before his very eyes, their bodies failing them along with any children that might have been sired. Coupled with the fact that they also left him stranded on a world with a Stargate, it became rather obvious that it was not a gesture of kindness, but a statement.

Was it not pathetic, for a Goa'uld to be confined to a planet with the means to leave it, but not the opportunity? The Supreme System Lord made sure to have spies stationed in the system, and as long as he was alive there was always the risk of someone tracking his activity. It was therefore that Ra's sudden death had come as both a boon and a tragedy.

Shezmu entered the ship, its sensors already having detected his presence near the door, which was disguised as one of the blocks constituting the pyramid. It retracted and slid apart, revealing the embellished interior. The inside of the ship looked more like a temple than a vessel capable of interstellar travel, but such was the vanity of his kind, not that he himself was entirely immune to it. A larger part of him than he would like to admit still appreciated the elaborate design to this day.

Humorously, he pondered, his family had done him a service in providing this lesser ship instead of a more modern Ha'tak. Its simple design allowed for much easier reverse engineering and upgrading, and in five thousand years with nothing else to do, he had managed to get a whole lot of work done. He allowed himself to be transported to the bridge, all the while amused by the thought of his fellow, extremely jealous Goa'uld, once they realized just how superior this supposedly obsolete hunk of metal was.

Materializing in the center of the bridge, he was met with the sight of Sa'ret arguing heatedly with her advisors. Her short, curly and slightly greying hair emphasized the stern wrinkles on her forehead, while she admonished a poor man over something Shezmu could not quite pick out. They did not seem to have noticed him yet, too busy analyzing a steady stream of information flowing onto the screen in front of them.

"So, what do we do, then?" the same man asked, a tone of irritation in his voice which suggested it was not the first time the question had been asked.

"We will do nothing. Once our Lord arrives the decision will be his." Sa'ret responded agitatedly.

He chose to have a bit of fun and leaned in between the arguing duo.

"Well, here I am. What's all this about?" he inquired, letting out a short bark of laughter when every person in the room turned, eyes wide as though stunned by a Zat'nik'tel.

"My Lord!" they chorused. "We did not notice your arrival".

Shezmu waved off their concerns and faced Sa'ret. "No worries. Now tell me, what did you wish to speak about?"

The atmosphere turned distinctly uncomfortable, and the wrinkles on his Chief of Intelligence grew even more distinct.

"As you know, we've been overseeing the activities on Delmak for quite some time." she said, to which he nodded in response.

She continued. "The probe we placed on one of the Tok'ra operatives dispatched to the planet has suddenly gone offline. A likely explanation is the the Tok'ra in question has been sent to Ne'tu, where the probe's long-distance capabilities would be compromised by excessive heat, gas and moisture."

He processed the elderly woman's words, and the gravity of the situation. It had been an extreme hassle, and taken a decent amount of luck, to find a window of opportunity to place that probe on the Tok'ra. It was also one of the few reliable sources of information they had on both their and Sokar's activities.

Following his silence, Sa'ret elaborated her discoveries further. "I'm afraid that's not the worst part, my Lord. The final transmission we intercepted from the Tok'ra revealed that Sokar has now amassed a force great enough to rival all System Lords combined. He is planning to overthrow the Goa'uld Empire."

Shezmu was unable to keep his shock from showing. The idea of someone like Sokar holding even a small amount of power was terrifying, and even more so when that power was the supreme force in the galaxy.

Unbidden memories of the past came to him, and he remembered the young and almost innocent Goa'uld who had in a rare moment of compassion chosen an albino human as his host, to spare him the consequences of the vicious superstition that ran rampant in that age. Their kind's genetic memory took some time to fully establish itself, and although Sokar had always had a nastier side, it was hard to believe he would become the monster he was now.

Sokar was one of the few that Shezmu truly believed completely beyond redemption, and Sa'ret must have shared that opinion because she looked at him with a serious expression, matched by the pair of assistants beside her.

"It may not be my place to say, but at this stage we must act, even if it means exposure." she said, her words containing an imploring undertone he would never have expected from her.

He understood that this was it, the moment of choice that would determine the fate of his people. For five thousand years their lifestyle had been one of both natural and technological prosperity. For that to change from a day to another was not a decision to be taken lightly.

He recalled the conversation he had only a short while ago with Seshem. She had unmistakably vowed that his Jaffa would follow him, even if it meant giving up their lives for the sake of gods long since renounced.

If he were honest with himself, Shezmu knew that his decision had been made already then.

He walked toward the throne-like command chair and took a seat, staring eerily through the large viewscreen at the city beneath.

"I agree. We will seize control of Delmak and vanquish the blight that is Sokar once and for all."

As he spoke, his voice grew more and more determined. "Summon the Ashrak and the Lion Guard at once. Ready a platoon of soldiers and verify the integrity of all the ship's systems." he commanded.

Sa'ret and her assistants hurried to comply with his orders, all three of them now sporting cruel glints in their eyes, promising not a shred of mercy to their enemies. Watching each of them leave, Shezmu considered the circumstance he had been placed in, and thoughts of annoyance and discontent occupied his mind.

"If those fools insist on playing at gods, they should at least have the decency to do it properly."


	2. Prologue: A God's Resolve

Hey! Thanks for the reviews and follows, I'm really happy people are already catching on and enjoying the story. I've read all the reviews, and while I'd really like to shed some light on who Shezmu is and why he acts the way he does, that would spoil parts of the plot!

All I can say is that he is indeed "good", but still very much a Goa'uld. His sense of morality is something he's developed on his own, far different from ours, and he has plenty of personal motives for everything he does. Anyway, here's the second part of the prologue!

/CE

* * *

The Ashrak were a specialized group of soldiers - assassins trained with the sole purpose of taking out the enemies of the System Lords. They were first created by the Goa'uld Selket, who disciplined and brainwashed them into complete and utter loyalty, before contracting them to the System Lords.

They held technological and martial secrets kept only within their own creed; knowledge which by all rights should never have found its way to Shezmu. However, Selket had underestimated the deep-rooted desire a Jaffa could have for freedom, once stoked, and one such individual had seen Shezmu's banishment as a window of opportunity. The man had snuck aboard the very vessel he was in right now, while it was being transported to the Garden by Ra, seeking to change his way of life.

The assassin then proceeded to share every torturous yet fascinating detail of what exactly his training had entailed, before swearing off his past and living out the rest of his life in peace. For a long time there had been no need for specially trained soldiers, until recently, when Shezmu felt it was safe to use the Stargate again and began to authorize expeditions.

In the event of war, the few who had chosen to become Ashrak would inject a refined serum into their bodies, extracted from the body of himself as well as his host. It was a very painful process for him, which involved several slim and long tubular threads contained within the metallic bands he wore around his limbs and neck. At the push of a button, they would puncture his skin and burrow through arteries and organs, draining both blood and other vital fluids.

That was the current condition Shezmu found himself in, struggling not to show the immense agony he was suffering. After one of the longest minutes of his life, he removed the bands and handed one to each of the five figures kneeling before him. They were clad in the darkest of black, covered from head to toe in light yet sturdy armor. Only their lower jaws were visible, eyes covered by an advanced visor allowing them enhanced vision and computing abilities.

The figures accepted the bands and held them against the exposed skin just above their throats. It was a testament to the Ashrak's training that they showed no discernable emotion, even less than he himself had, as they experienced the very same pain he did when the serum was injected into various parts of their bodies.

The point of the procedure was to grant them all the benefits that came with possessing a mature symbiote, as Selket's assassins had, such as the highly advanced healing properties that could take care of all but the most lethal of injuries or infections. They also gained slightly augmented speed and strength, and perhaps most importantly, the ability to utilize naquadah-based equipment such as the Hara'kesh.

Not to be confused with the Kara'kesh, the Hara'kesh was a much smaller and more easily concealed version of the former, and one of the Ashrak's greatest secrets. In some respects it was superior to its more common counterpart, as it had additional functions enabling instant healing of small wounds, the ability to see through organic material, and the capacity to send electrical impulses that could overload machinery or even kill an organism. The drawback that came with its smaller size was a limited area of effect and lack of a fully enveloping personal shield.

Of course, Shezmu had immediately seen those functions incorporated into his Kara'kesh, and would be immensely surprised if any other Goa'uld had developed anything even remotely similar.

The Ashrak soldiers stood up, returning his golden bands. He promptly clasped them back in place, where they once again served only as jewelry. Relaxing back into his throne, he fought off the involuntary spasms from the damage caused to his nerves and looked at the five assassins.

"Well done. Heed my words carefully, for they will tell of your assignments." he spoke seriously, making sure they were paying full attention.

"Serpent, you shall locate the Tok'ra Selmak, and ensure his survival. He is expected to be on Ne'tu, and your visor will respond to the probe placed on his person."

The Ashrak known as Serpent nodded once in understanding.

"Scarab, you will locate and secure Apophis, dead or alive, and bring him to this ship without delay. Jackal and Vulture will work together to kill Sokar, and finally, Scorpion will trail my every movement and make certain my actions are unobstructed."

Golden light shone brightly from Shezmu's eyes, and his voice grew deep. "These tasks are of utmost importance. Failure is not an option."

The assassins stood in silence, before lowering their heads. As one, they suddenly spun around and appeared to blend into the shadows.

He usually did not deal in absolutes, but sometimes it became a necessity. Furthermore, his Ashrak were not normal soldiers, to the extent where only himself and Petekh, his Chief of Integrity, knew their former identities. The stoic and wizened man had a single principal duty, to be a judge of character. That meant he oversaw the planet's inhabitants, looking for any, however unlikely, signs of dissent or strife, and also employed Ashrak.

Those who chose to walk that path gave up everything in service of their people. Their lack of identity meant that they could not form bonds with other beings, be they of friendship or love. Even their very families had been purged from their minds. Their cold existence resulted in an unparalleled military proficiency, where devotion to their home meant everything and interrogation would yield no outcome.

It was sad, grim and cruel to live in such a way, but they chose this fate of their own free will and that made it beautiful. To the people of the Garden, they were a paragon of protection, held in the highest esteem. Shezmu was glad that the Ashrak would now have a purpose beyond petty reconnaissance missions, instead doing something worthy of their dedication and no doubt to be sung of in legends.

"Those guys always send a shiver down my spine." Seshem said, approaching him from where she had been standing, at the very edge of the bridge.

"That means they're doing their job correctly." he said, smirking at her discomfort.

The bridge had originally looked like a temple altar, with most of the space decorated with statues and other ornaments, even having curtains hanging down around the throne. Only at the very front, by the viewscreen, was there a single seat with piloting controls.

That was not the case anymore.

A large redecoration had taken place, long ago, with less space committed to his grandeur in favor of efficiency. While a handful of statues still lingered, many had been replaced with large computer screens used to monitor the ship's many engines, weapons and Glider bays. Gone were the curtains, although the throne remained as a central command chair. The area around the piloting controls was now much larger, providing more space as well as more seats.

A circular table stood in front of the throne, surrounded by chairs, where his Chiefs could devise various plans and courses of action. As a matter of fact, they had just gathered for briefing, each of them sitting down before turning to him expectantly. Two pilots had also positioned themselves in front of the command console.

"My Lord, we are ready to depart at your command. However, it would be wise to first speak to the people." Medes commented.

His Chief of Defense was a young Jaffa with hardened features and scruffy blond hair, bleached even further from exposure to the Garden's nearly constant sunlight. Despite his modest age, he had shown a remarkable ability in getting operatives out of tight spots and had definitely saved them from trouble off-world more than once.

"Indeed. I shall speak through the Vo'cume." Shezmu responded, and stood up. Medes nodded at that, pressing a button on the edge of the table. Yellow light illuminated his form from the roof above, enveloping him much like a spotlight would.

The Vo'cume was a handy piece of technology he had chosen to improve upon. Whereas the original would only produce a hologram of pre-recorded messages, this one could transmit information in real-time.

A more impressive upgrade, however, was that the small, rotund device had been taken apart and reassembled, fastened to the very top of the ship's exterior. It was capable of generating a hologram over a hundred times larger than before, thanks to the excess energy provided by the ship. This meant that every single resident in Aaru would be seeing an enormous projection of their god, seemingly hovering above the great pyramid.

Shezmu looked down at the floor, knowing that his hologram would appear to be staring down at his people. Deep down, he was slightly nervous. He had not given a proper speech in ages, and took a deep breath to compose himself.

"People of the Garden, I come before you today to disclose an arduous undertaking. Ever since your ancestors first set foot on this planet with me, they, and their children, and their children's children, have known no other existence. That is not to say that life has not been good to us, for we have prospered."

He spun around on the spot, an action which would appear strange on the bridge, but to the city's inhabitants as though he were turning to face those on the other side of the pyramid.

"Together, we have achieved something truly remarkable. Harmony. There is nothing that could make me more proud than to see so many people living side by side, in peace. Where others would destroy, you build. Where others would wage war, you extend a helping hand. Where others would hate, you love."

He twisted to the side, adopting a solemn expression as he was reaching the difficult part of the speech.

"However, I will not lie to you. This world we have made for ourselves is an exception. It is a deviation from the abhorrent norm that constitutes the rest of the galaxy. Yet, for all its atrociousness, it remains a galaxy that we are a part of."

Shezmu slowly faced the only side he had not acknowledged thus far.

"I believe that each and every one of us has always known, that the day would come when we had to reveal ourselves once again. Our history is written in the very walls around us, and there is not one soul here that knows it not by heart."

He finally assumed his original stance, now speaking as much to the assembled Chiefs in front of him as he was to the people.

"We must face that history, and right the wrongs that were once imposed upon us. It is not a decision that has been made lightly, and I hope you will grace me with the same trust and solidarity that you have shown over the past five millennia. I truly believe that there are none better suited to bring forth an era of greatness to the galaxy, than you. My people."

Shezmu had expected cries of anger and outrage, or at the very least sorrow and despair. He was prepared for nearly every possible negative reaction that should logically follow the disruption of a utopian lifestyle.

What he did not expect were the cheers.

The combined cheers of many tens of thousands of people reached his ears, easily penetrating even the thick metallic walls of the ship. His Chiefs all looked at him with approving smiles, and an indecipherable emotion began to well up in his chest.

It was more than happiness and pride. It took some time for him to figure out what it was, but once he did it hit him harder than a Glider to the face.

It was love.

Shezmu loved his people. He loved the Garden. And he was a Goa'uld.

A tear trickled down his cheek, and yet he could not bring himself to care that the Vo'cume was still activated, or that everyone on the bridge witnessed this moment of weakness.

He raised his hand in farewell, and Medes took that as a sign to dismiss the hologram. The still resounding cheers confirmed in his mind that the right choice had been made. Meanwhile, his First Prime kept looking at him in a way he had never seen before, her eyes gleaming from something suspiciously similar to tears.

"That was beautiful, my Lord." she whispered, catching him slightly by surprise.

"You think so?" he asked. "I was worried that it might have become slightly long-winded."

There was a round of muffled laughter on the bridge, and the atmosphere lightened. He figured now was as good a time as any to depart. Should they wait any longer, the risk was that they might never leave.

"Pilots, take us into orbit and set course for Delmak. It's time to see what this old hunk of metal is made of."

The pilots worded their affirmations, and with a rumble the sublight engines were ignited. Shezmu felt slightly giddy, despite himself, to be flying again after such a lengthy confinement. He knew the gravitational dampeners inhibited excess force within the ship's hull, but he could have sworn he felt something the moment they took off.

He laughed out loud in amusement at the idea of the people's expressions when they saw the great pyramid taking off into the sky, realizing he had never told them exactly what revealing themselves entailed. There was a reason he had been known as the Trickster God, after all, amongst other titles. Most of the time, however, his tricks were completely unintentional. Not that anyone believed him.

It was magnificent to see the Garden's horizon become steadily more curved as they rose. The contrast of the green continents against the deep blue of the ocean was one of the most stunning things he had ever witnessed. Eventually the group found themselves in orbit, staring down at the planet from which all but one of them was not native to.

"My Lord, the course for Delmak has been set. Rerouting ninety percent of maximum power to the hyperdrive." one of the pilots apprised, and Shezmu felt his giddiness grow stronger.

A particularly clever scientist had realized that the velocity of hyperspace travel depended on two things - the amount of power fueling the hyperdrive, naturally, but also the size of the subspace window. Given some research, it was possible to have the hyperdrive make use of the ship's power output in a manner similar to the shields. It would leave them more vulnerable and without certain functions, but it was hardly of any consequence while in hyperspace.

All in all, the result was that the hyperdrive became much more efficient than before. Just how much faster they would be traveling remained a mystery, however, since the effects of the subspace window had yet to be accounted for, unlike the thrusters which could be calculated.

From there, the next logical step had been to apply the theory to the sublight engines. By rerouting power from the hyperdrive while not in use, which was not an insubstantial amount, they were able to nearly double the speed of sublight travel. All of that with barely any structural changes; requiring only a bit of clever thinking.

Unfortunately, attempting to do the same with the weapons was not as successful of an endeavor. The staff cannons grew more powerful - much more so - but overheating became a problem and waiting for them to cool down was not a viable option. In any case, as staff cannons were not all they had in the way of armament, it was decided that rerouting power to weaponry could remain a last-ditch effort in dire situations.

Of course, it was one thing to go over it all in theory. Praxis would prove to be another matter entirely.

All of a sudden space seemed to warp and glow violet, just as Shezmu remembered it would, and he grinned when his surroundings blurred and they shot away, crossing unfathomable distances in a matter of seconds. In the periphery, stars appeared as streaks of white light, and the swirling azure patterns in between were as alluring as they were dizzying.

Sokar would not know what hit him until it was too late.


	3. Prologue: Devil's End

Diving head first into enemy territory might appear to be exactly what they were doing, but Shezmu knew his Chiefs better than that. If they did not object to his commands, it was because whatever awaited them on the other end would turn out in their favor.

He looked at the company assembled in front of him, and took in their remarkably calm countenances. They spoke of war as though trading stories over dinner, discussing infiltration operations and assassinations with unnerving calm. They were without doubt a force to be reckoned with.

"Seshem, how long have we been travelling?" he asked his First Prime, who stood beside him as diligently as always.

"Three hours, give or take a few minutes. According to the pilots' estimation we should arrive within the next hour." she replied, and smiled widely at his astonishment.

"So soon? Just how fast are we moving, exactly?" he wondered, more to himself than anyone else. However, one of the pilots happened to overhear him, and turned with a grin to match Seshem's.

"Oh, just over two-hundred thousand times the speed of light, my Lord." the man said cheekily.

Shezmu could feel his jaw dropping and swiftly steadied it with the back of his hand. This was beyond expectations. While nothing compared to an Asgard hyperdrive, they had effectively quadrupled the ship's original speed. What should have taken nearly a day of non-stop travelling, now only required a couple of hours.

He concluded that the size of the subspace window held more importance than the drive's thrusters, and catalogued that observation away for future thought. Already, several theories had sprung up in his mind, but now was the wrong time to contemplate science.

Luckily, Delmak was not situated on the other side of the galaxy. If it were, only a miracle would spare them from Sokar's rule. As it was, the planet could be found within the same spiral arm as the Garden. It was no coincidence, as Sokar too had been an outcast. The Goa'uld seemed to have a quirk for relocating the unwanted to the backends of the galaxy, before doing their very best to pretend like they never existed.

Several minutes passed, and Shezmu had begun to sink slightly in his throne, completely lost in pensiveness while staring at the swirling patterns of hyperspace. When they then abruptly disappeared, he jerked slightly in surprise.

"A little heads-up next time, maybe?" he muttered, before straightening himself and standing up. He was curious to see what their destination looked like, and approached the viewscreen.

"We didn't want to interrupt your daydreaming, my Lord." Qe'det said innocently, while twirling locks of auburn hair around her finger. He could not help but scoff at the display.

She was the daughter of Sa'ret, who had chosen to walk in her mother's footsteps and become part of the Lion Guard. Her mind was more of a strategic one, however, and was therefore better suited for the role of Chief of Strategy. Unfortunately for Sa'ret, that meant her search for a successor had yet to end, and many poor youngsters became subject to her relentless pursuit.

Shezmu thought back to the young boy, Kha'x, and cringed in sympathy.

"Very funny." he deadpanned, while taking in the scene that was Delmak, orbited by its hellish moon. He remembered a time when Ne'tu had been lush with green, going against all rules of universal probability.

The moon had once been even more habitable than the planet it orbited, and it was sad to see it reduced to this state. The atmosphere was visibly ravaged, now containing a greater percentage of toxic gases than essential ones. Lava covered most of the surface, flowing freely where there should have been water.

"Scan the area." he ordered, not seeing any hostile vessels but not wanting to take unnecessary risks.

The pilots obliged, pressing a few buttons on the console in front of them. With a swipe of the neural interface, a generated image was superimposed on the viewscreen. Two red dots appeared on the other side of Ne'tu.

"My Lord, we've detected two ships obstructed from vision. One Ha'tak and one Tel'tak." a pilot informed.

Qe'det picked this moment to speak up. "As expected. Sokar would not have had time to mobilize his entire fleet. We should hold this position for the time being, and keep out of the enemy's line of sight."

Shezmu nodded, and was about to speak when four new dots suddenly came into view, glimmering as they moved towards the surface of the moon.

"The Tel'tak appears to have launched escape pods." he mused, pinching the bridge of his nose in confusion. There was only one possible explanation, and Petekh took the words right out of his mouth.

"They do not belong to Sokar."

Someone was launching a rescue operation, and Shezmu wanted to know who. The only thing that would warrant surrendering oneself to the fires of Ne'tu was a significant connection to a prisoner, emotional or otherwise.

"Of course!" he exclaimed. "The Tok'ra have come to rescue their own."

It was ironic, he reflected, that he as a Goa'uld shared the same goal as the Tok'ra.

"I shall descend to Ne'tu as well." he stated, shocking his Chiefs, who began to voice their objections until he cut them off.

"You need not worry about my safety. I have already acquired sufficient protection, and will beam myself up with the rings should it become necessary."

A nifty little addition he had made to his Kara'kesh granted him the ability to return to his ship as long as he remained within range. It was also a function he chose to utilize as little as possible, since the rings left behind a great deal of collateral damage when used somewhere not intended by design. Using it on his way down would most likely ruin any attempt at stealth, and so Shezmu was forced to board a Glider.

Seshem began to follow him on his trek to the Glider bay, but this time he needed her to stay behind. Not because he doubted her ability, but for the simple reason that remaining undetected would be easier if not needing to keep track of another.

Before she managed to catch up, an input of will to his Kara'kesh called the transportation rings down around him, and he vanished in a flash of light. The last thing he heard was her angry yell and indignant stomping.

* * *

The five Ashrak awaited him when he materialized in the bay. All but one of them had already entered Death Gliders of their own, igniting the engines and settling into a low hover above the floor. The fifth assassin, the one ordered to shadow him, nodded in acknowledgement and motioned for Shezmu to move closer.

Once they were all seated, the handful of battleships took off, leaving through the hangar which had now opened to reveal the pitch-black void that was space, illuminated only by the light of distant stars.

The trip to Ne'tu was short, and only one other Glider followed him to the moon's surface, most likely piloted by the Ashrak ordered to deal with Apophis. It stood to reason that Sokar would have sent him here, and if not, he was probably dead.

The cockpit opened with a hiss of air, and Shezmu was immediately presented with almost suffocatingly hot and humid air. He leapt out of the Glider, stretching his limbs and feeling extremely glad that he wore light clothing.

Ne'tu was as awful seen from the surface as it was from orbit, perhaps even more so. The crackling of fire and lava could be heard constantly, along with rumbles of distant earthquakes. Both assassins that had accompanied him were already gone, hiding away in the plentiful shadows cast by the moon's tall mountains.

The escape pods used by the Tok'ra lay scattered around him, each in a small crater, making him pause in thought. If they had landed here, there must be some sort of structure nearby.

He wandered around randomly for a while, until spotting a trail of footprints leading off to a mountainside. Following them curiously, he eventually reached the entrance of a cave. Wails of anguish and despair reverberated in the gloomy cavern, and while unpleasant, it meant he was in the right place.

Shezmu carefully strode down a poorly lit tunnel, in the direction of the screams. The only source of light came from scarce embers, where rests of organic material had been set on fire by seeping lava. It was probably best not to dwell on just what that organic material might be.

Just as he wondered how deep the tunnel was, beginning to feel uncomfortable with the increasing heat, it branched out to reveal a large underground settlement.

'Settlement' being a complimentary term, considering it was more of a literal hellhole.

He arrived in time to see a group of people leered down upon by a grotesque man, who must have had one of his eyes brutally gouged out given the unnatural way the socket had mended.

"Take their weapons." the man commanded, voice giving him away as a Goa'uld. His sneer grew even more crooked, and a sting of hatred worked its way into his tone when he continued.

"Throw them in the pit." he spat, before turning around and returning from whence he came.

If that was not an ominous decree, Shezmu did not know what was. He watched discreetly as the group was led away to wherever this 'pit' was, and stalked them silently once the denizens and servants had left.

Unsurprisingly, it was situated even further down underground. He snuck quietly behind the lieutenants, amused at a man's ceaseless sarcastic comments about his surroundings. Curiously, he did not speak like a Tok'ra, and only the presence of a single symbiote could be felt from the group. There was a chance that these were actually the elusive humans, who had proven to be such a nuisance for the Goa'uld.

The deeper he walked, the worse the environment became. The air grew even hotter and more stale, elements of rotting flesh and dried blood producing a pungent odour. Hearing the footsteps subside, Shezmu stopped just around a corner, peeking over the stained walls of rock.

The assumed rescue team was, quite literally, thrown into a dark pit. A moment later, bars of metal slammed together, and he heard the sound of locks clicking into place. While assessing the advantages and disadvantages of busting them out, he suddenly found himself face to face with the two lieutenants.

"Who are you?! What are you doing here?" one of the men demanded, moving to grab him. Shezmu decided that absentmindedness was something he needed to work on, and was about to make his move when the men dropped like rag dolls, collapsing onto the ground in dead silence.

Blood spewed forth from their throats, cut deeply by a blade sharper than imaginable. They remained alive long enough to look up at him in shock, but unable to make a single sound due to their vocal chords being severed.

While watching the life gradually leave their eyes, he was reminded why Ashrak were feared by Jaffa and Goa'uld alike.

Approaching the pit slowly, he casually placed his hands behind his back and listened to the chattering from beneath.

"This doesn't look encouraging." a voice spoke out in a rather sardonic tone, and Shezmu decided to make himself known.

"Oh, I differ. You'll find that my presence has turned many things in your favor."

Raising his left arm, he blasted the bars apart with his Kara'kesh, forming an opening.

"What the hell?" a short-haired man exclaimed as he jumped to his feet. "Who're you?"

"Quite possibly your savior, if you behave." he replied, and the man drew back slightly, likely not used to being scolded. He muttered something under his breath, which caused the blonde woman beside him to slap his arm and shush him into silence.

"Well, at least one of you has manners. Now, if you wish to escape I recommend that you stand close to me in a circle." Shezmu advised, entering the pit himself.

All of them looked at him like he was insane. "Why should we trust you just like that? And even if we did, there's someone here we're not leaving without." said the woman.

He was spared a lengthy discussion when his assassin appeared before him, landing in a kneeling position from where he had leapt. He spoke quietly, in barely more than a whisper.

"My Lord, all of our missions have been completed."

The god grinned. "Excellent."

He then looked back to the woman. "If you're referring to the Tok'ra Selmak, he is now in my custody."

The trio of humans goggled at him in shock, while the one with a symbiote within him stared at the Ashrak in poorly concealed fear.

"That's… That's an _Ashrak._ " he said softly, placing reverent emphasis on the final word, causing the humans to begin questioning what was so special about that.

He began to grow impatient. "I'm going to be blunt - in five seconds I'm out of here. Come with me if you want to live."

Shezmu started a countdown for dramatic effect, and it seemed to work because as soon as he reached 'one', they all huddled around him and his still kneeling assassin. He raised his left hand into the air, willing the transportation rings to beam them away from the dreadful moon.

All matter bent to the power of the rings. Rock and soil was torn apart as they came crashing down around them, creating a path straight up to where his ship orbited, and he expelled a sigh of relief, pleased to be off Ne'tu despite the short visit.

* * *

Of the myriad things awaiting him once he returned, his angry First Prime was probably the worst. The restrained and screaming Apophis came at a close second, vicious threats spewing forth from his mouth and reverberating across the bridge.

The disgraced god fell silent upon his arrival, however, his furious expression giving way to fear and skin growing pale.

"You…" he whispered, and Shezmu shot him a look of pure displeasure, his eyes turning golden as he did so.

"I'll deal with you shortly." he snarled, clenching his teeth in anger.

The group of humans backed away from him warily, with a bespectacled man making an obvious observation.

"You're a Goa'uld."

Shezmu had no time to respond since Seshem marched right past them and lodged a fist deep in his stomach, before answering for him.

"Well of course he is, and a very mischievous one at that." she said, throwing him a vexed glare. "I still can't believe you just took off like that, my Lord, and for what, this ragtag bunch of humans?"

"And a Tok'ra." he added, straightening himself from the solid punch only to see her glare intensify.

"That doesn't help your case." she said, rosy lips tightening in a way that was as terrifying as it was adorable.

The chatty, short-haired human attempted to worm his way into the conversation. "Sorry to interrupt your, uh, reunion, but I have two questions. What's freaking Apophis doing here, and can we please get the hell out?"

Shezmu laughed, enjoying his candidness. "Did we not just get out of hell? And yes, you may leave. Soon - after you've introduced yourselves."

The group parted when he walked between them, taking a seat on his throne and motioning for them to sit by the round table.

"I couldn't help but notice you didn't reply to my first question." the man muttered, but sat down and went on to present himself as Jack O'Neill.

With two 'l's.

The other humans followed suit, with the Tok'ra finally introducing himself as Martouf.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Shezmu, and this is my First Prime, Seshem." he responded, motioning to the miffed woman who had not left his side. Fortunately his Chiefs had wondered off sometime during his excursion, which kept the multitude of names at a manageable level.

"Never heard of you." Jack stated blankly, but quieted when Daniel spoke up.

"I have. Ancient Egyptian texts describe him as the Lord of Blood, Devourer of the Gods and He Who Dismembers Bodies."

Jack looked at his friend and raised his eyebrows. "Lovely. Does he have any more nice titles?"

Without paying attention to the thinly veiled sarcasm, the archeologist seemed to contemplate something for a while, and eventually replied. "One particular section in the temple of Dendera does speak of him as 'He Who Propitiates the Heart of Hathor with What She Likes', whatever that means."

Shezmu let out a roar of laughter, making them all jump in surprise. "Ra wasn't happy about that one, I can tell you!"

Sam was the first to realize the implications, and once she did her cheeks became tinged with red.

"Oh." she said, only to be collectively quoted by the others once they also made the connection.

"You're awfully nice for a Goa'uld." the blonde commented in a bid to change the subject, and he tilted his head at her remark.

"There is nothing to be gained from animosity. I wish the rest of my kind would come to understand that as well. Besides, you are my guests, and shall be treated accordingly."

The sudden noise of transportation rings activating had them all turning around. A pair of Ashrak materialized, one of them holding a small shadowy figure in his hands. They both approached the throne and knelt.

"My Lord, we present to you the corpse of Sokar." they chorused in a breathy tone. The one on the left raised his hands as though in offering.

The object he held was revealed to be a symbiote, its gleaming red eyes open in a blank, unseeing stare. Shezmu grasped hold of the snake-like creature, examining it in deathly silence for what seemed like an eternity.

"You have done well." he said eventually.

The Ashrak rose and nodded in deference at his words, beginning to walk away. They paused mid-step when he continued.

"Your deed this day will never be forgotten, and tales of your triumph shall grace the walls of Aaru forevermore."

The assassins remained still for a few seconds before briskly vacating the bridge. Apophis, who until now had remained silent, looked at him with eyes as wide as his guests'.

"You killed Sokar." he said, no longer bothering to struggle against the Jaffa tasked with subduing him.

Seshem smiled from where she stood. "Do you finally understand, Serpent Lord? The Lion Guard is taking control of Delmak as we speak, and its forces will serve a new god now." she stated, her voice containing a very smug quality.

All the while, a single thought occupied Shezmu's mind.

It was good to be back.


	4. Prologue: Goodnight Moon

"Where's my dad?" asked Sam, a question Shezmu found strange in wake of everything that had transpired.

"Why should I know the location of your father?" he countered quizzically, and her face grew indignant.

"You said he'd be here!" she exclaimed, and for a moment he grew confused, before drawing the only logical conclusion he could think of.

"Oh, you're referring to the Tok'ra, are you not?"

The blonde nodded.

"Forgive me, I did not know you shared a relation by blood. I believe Seshem can inform you of his whereabouts."

His First Prime inclined her head. "He is currently being cared for in the healing chambers. I can take you there, by my Lord's leave, of course." she said, and looked to both Sam and himself in turn.

He waved a hand in response, conveying that she had his permission. The two women left, joined shortly thereafter by the others, who trailed along after a moment's indecision. They likely did not trust his First Prime enough to warrant one of their own being taken away to an unknown location.

Originally, the healing chambers had constituted the sarcophagus room. For obvious reasons, Shezmu had prohibited use of the device, unless considered absolutely necessary.

It was of Ancient design, by origin, and therefore tailored to the genetic makeup of the now lost species. When Thoth first laid his hands on the device, it had responded badly to humans and even worse to Goa'uld. To his credit, he did manage to make it somewhat functional, healing grievous wounds to the point where even recently deceased could be brought back to life.

Unfortunately, the benefits did not come without a catch, and the unexpected side-effects were only recognized when once was already too late. Most of his contemporaries found themselves in wars and skirmishes so often that they had been exposed to far too much of the unhealthy radiation.

While their bodies remained at a functional peak, the same could not be said for their sanity. Goa'uld were already wicked by nature, a fact he was aware of, but the sarcophagus went on to rob them of what little reason and compassion they had. These behavioral changes were then passed on to younger generations through imprints in their genetic memory. Until Shezmu found a way to repair the damage caused, an overwhelming majority of his kind would only respond to power and fear.

Which brought him back to the present, and a certain someone he had yet to confront. Realizing he was still holding Sokar's dead body in a tight grip, he placed it in a bowl beside his throne and stood up.

Apophis stared in unease as he was approached, and was caught completely off-guard by the solid strike aimed for his jaw. The man was lifted off the floor, hurled to the side by the sheer force of the blow. The Jaffa restraining him quickly backed away, fearful of their Lord's rare show of wrath. His eyes shone so brightly they seemed to light up the entire bridge, and when he spoke his words came out as a distorted growl.

"I am greatly disappointed in you, Apophis. I thought better of you, knowing you once opposed the ways of Ra to the point of declaring him your mortal enemy. Yet here I find you, after all these years, under the heel of Sokar and struggling against some primitive humans."

His words managed to provoke some anger from his fellow god, who looked back at him with a hint of defiance.

"Your insults mean nothing, traitor. Now that you have dared show your face again, the System Lords will hunt you down like the abomination you are." he spat, and Shezmu shook his head dejectedly, saddened by the foolish response. It only enforced his earlier assumptions.

"They will not. I now possess a force deemed large enough to face the System Lords head on and emerge victorious."

"You are honestly expecting Sokar's Jaffa to bow to you?" Apophis questioned, swaying slightly as he rose to his feet.

"I am. As were you, I assume, had you been allowed to roam free. I would also recommend worrying less about them, and more about yourself. Your fate remains to be decided."

The hint of defiance that had formed on the Serpent Lord's face vanished instantly, replaced entirely by fear now that the threat of death had become, in his mind, very real. The two Jaffa that had backed off earlier strode forward at his words, grabbing hold of the captive god's arms.

Shezmu placed his hand against the masked side of his face, ignoring his pleas for mercy.

An ear-splitting scream of agony echoed across the bridge, and he saw the pilots wincing from where they were silently observing. He had completely torn off the metal plate welded against the disfigured part of Apophis' face, exposing both naked flesh and poorly healed scar tissue underneath.

The red gem on his Kara'kesh then began to glow, and he passed his hand over the various wounds in a gentle caress. Previously damaged tissue regrew and knit itself together, leaving no trace of injury and only smooth and unblemished skin.

"How is this possible? And without the aid of a sarcophagus…" mumbled Apophis, pressing the palm of his hand against his healed cheek.

"I was expecting words of gratitude, truth be told. But to answer your question, I suppose my divine powers must be superior to yours, wouldn't you say?" Shezmu replied sarcastically, in a mockery of the usual Goa'uld spiel.

He returned to his throne, casually assuming his seat once more. "Now that you are presentable, you shall join me in addressing the people of Delmak."

"Excuse me?" the Serpent Lord asked, not believing what he had heard.

"Did I stutter? If so, allow me to make myself clear. You are alive for the sole reason of assisting me in commanding my new fleet. Betray me, and you will die. Attempt to flee, and you will die. Am I understood?"

A long, deafening silence reigned across the bridge, until Apophis finally lowered his head.

"As you wish, my Lord."

Shezmu smiled, inwardly elated at the progress he was making. He knew that dealing with his kind would require a very particular brand of psychological approach. While needing to ensure their cooperation, he did not want them to feel too subservient or under constant threat.

That was, in fact, the very cause of much of the infighting amongst the Goa'uld.

"No need for formalities. We are family, are we not? Prove yourself worthy, and your word will come to bear as much weight as my own."

That would never happen, of course, but it was not necessarily a lie. The opportunity to grow and earn respect was a universal right amongst his people.

He sighed and passed a hand through his hair wearily. So much had changed so quickly, and had someone told Shezmu that all of this would happen a mere day ago, he would have advised that person to seek mental aid.

His thoughts were interrupted when Seshem rushed back to the bridge, nearly stumbling in her hurry to speak with him.

"My Lord! There is something you must hear immediately!" she exclaimed, forcefully thrusting a small device into his hands. Jack and his comrades returned as well, panting slightly from sprinting, accompanied by an older man fitted in tattered robes.

"Yeah, you might actually want to listen to that." Daniel said nervously, fidgeting almost imperceptibly.

Shezmu recognized the item in his hands as a communications device, similar in design to the ones he used himself. It probably belonged to the Tok'ra.

He pushed a button on its back. "With whom am I speaking?" he asked.

A moment later a voice responded, muffled slightly by static. "I am Teal'c of Chulak. You must reposition your ship immediately."

"Would you care to elaborate on that?"

"Ne'tu is set to explode within ten minutes. If you remain where you are, you will be caught in its blast radius and destroyed along with it."

If he ever met Teal'c, he would have to commend the man for keeping his voice so impeccably calm and composed, even when relaying a message of this significance. Apophis, on the other hand, did not seem as impressed, from the way his face scrunched into open disgust.

"Shol'va!" he snarled, and turned his back to the group. Shezmu filed that away as another piece of interesting information, and spoke into the device again.

"Thank you for telling me this, Teal'c. I assume you are of close relation to my guests, in which case they shall be transported aboard your ship once placed within range of my own."

"Very well. You have my gratitude."

With a buzz of static the transmission ended, and he faced the assembled company. The sheer ridiculousness of it finally hit him, and was enough to make him guffaw.

"What's so funny?" Sam inquired, with a little annoyance. "Didn't you hear what Teal'c said?"

"Oh, I heard." he replied. "It's just that I can't help but feel amused whenever I see three humans, two Tok'ra and a notorious Goa'uld Lord standing together in relative ease."

Jack huffed and crossed his arms. "Yeah, don't get to used to that. By the way, I could have sworn Apophis had less of a face when we got here."

"All will be revealed in time." he said softly, yet with a sense of finality to let the mouthy human know it was prudent to drop the subject.

"My Lord, our sensors are detecting massive fluctuations in the moon's core. The atmosphere is collapsing." a pilot warned, sounding rather alarmed.

Ne'tu was indeed looking out of the ordinary, at least as far as a moon terraformed to appear as hell went. Massive amounts of magma was being spewed out from beneath its crust, so much that it was even visible from space, and thick, dark clouds looked as though they were seeping out of the moon.

"Ignite the sublight engines and position us behind Delmak. The planet will shield us from any debris." ordered Shezmu, and within seconds the ship began to hum with power.

The Tel'tak they had spotted when first arriving sped past them, in the same direction as they were headed. With a start, he remembered the Ha'tak that had also been orbiting the imminently exploding moon, and turned promptly to his First Prime.

"Seshem, none of our own are aboard Sokar's flagship, I hope?" he asked, wishing profoundly for that to not be the case.

"Of course not. Only the Ashrak were sent aboard, and as you know, they've already returned. As soon as their mission was completed, the Chiefs took off for Delmak. Together with several squadrons of Jaffa, they're occupying strategic points across the planet and subduing any resistance." she said, looking exceedingly pleased with herself.

Shezmu relaxed, feeling the tension that had built up melt away.

"I doubt there's much resistance at all, really, considering the type of person their ruler was. In any case, once we arrive, I'm sure you'll be able to sway the last of them to our side." the woman finished, placing her hands against her hips.

The humans were not so thrilled, however. They all had their eyebrows raised highly and looked at him in a combination of shock and incredulity. Both of the Tok'ra, though, especially the old man he had come here to rescue in the first place, looked at him oddly before speaking.

"Selmak told me a lot about you, you know, while I was being cared for. Of all the Goa'uld to possess an army the size of Sokar's, you're probably the only one who could be trusted with it."

That was unexpected, approval from a Tok'ra. Although, he could not help but wonder just how much Selmak knew about him, and by extension, the rest of the Tok'ra. Some knowledge was better left forgotten.

The remark was enough to lighten his mood, however, and even Martouf seemed to be nodding in agreement.

"That remains to be seen, although your words bring me some degree of assurance." Shezmu responded modestly, when suddenly several bright flashes of light blinded everyone's sight.

Through squinting eyes, he managed to make out the shimmering surface of Ne'tu as it shattered from the tremendous force built up in its core. Chunks of rock, both large and small, were expelled at incredible speed, most of it fated to traverse the universe aimlessly for all of eternity.

The red dot on the viewscreen symbolizing Sokar's Ha'tak vanished abruptly, and he shuddered to think what would have happened had they not been forewarned.

Nothing pleasant, that much was certain.

* * *

And that's the final chapter of the prologue! I hope you all enjoyed it, and that you're looking forward to the continuation of the story.

Next chapter: -Arc 1: The Cult of Restau-


	5. Arc 1: The Cult of Restau

Shezmu's eyes were wide as he took in the surface of Delmak. His pilots had informed him that they would be landing shortly, and that the final preparations were being made.

Ever since the safe departure of his very temporary human and Tok'ra guests, Shezmu had been keeping his eyes glued to the viewscreen.

From his place beside him, Apophis could be seen doing the same. The corner of his lip would twitch from time to time, and he had an indecipherable expression on his face.

Shezmu itched to know how his guests had managed to provoke such emotion from the god, but held his tongue. There was much work to be done, and he needed Apophis' full attention and commitment.

The ship slowed in its descent, tearing through one final layer of dark, greenish clouds. The planet's surface was now fully revealed, and he could not help his horrified exclamation.

"Light of Atum, what has he been doing?!"

Not one piece of vegetation was visible, either covered or eradicated in favor of cold metal and unforgiving industry. Tall towers and pipes continuously spat out fumes, only adding to the miasma above.

Most startling of all, however, were the hundreds upon thousands of spaceships covering almost every inch of visible land.

"Building, of course." replied Apophis, no doubt amused by Shezmu's dismay.

"Building?" he echoed, horrified. He knew Sokar had acquired the means to usurp the System Lords, but this went beyond even his darkest fears.

Not even during the golden age of Ra, when the Goa'uld were at the height of their power, did any single individual possess such a large fleet.

Apophis nodded, ignoring the wary glances directed his way by Seshem and the rest of the bridge's crew.

"You would not know, given your absence, but Sokar and Ptah formed a rather questionable alliance a few millennia ago."

"Ptah? The old coot?" Shezmu scoffed in disbelief, even as he began piecing together the puzzle.

Ptah was a figure as equally revered as he was ridiculed. He was the father of most Goa'uld technology, which also happened to include their spaceships. Not many wanted anything to do with him, however, given his reputation as a mad scientist.

That, and his superior knowledge regarding nearly every piece of technology available. Ptah had even gone so far as to genetically modify and train his own branch of Jaffa, each bearing the strength of ten men and the proficiency to take out a Ha'tak with a mere Glider.

One had to be a fool to openly challenge him over property or domain.

"Indeed." Apophis confirmed. "What you see before you is the result of that alliance."

Shezmu could feel the ship gently touching down, and the slight tremor running through the floor as magnetic clamps locked it in place. An unfamiliar sensation welled up in his stomach at that, one that he had not felt in a very long time.

He had not set foot on another planet in over five millennia, let alone spoken to people not his own. Dealing with the aftermath of Sokar's demise seemed a magnitude more daunting than disposing of the tyrant himself.

An arm then brushed against his own, for the briefest of moments, and Shezmu's nervosity faded away.

He was truly fortunate to have such a perceptive First Prime.

* * *

"My Lord, we're ready to commence the transmission."

Shezmu rubbed his temples in contemplation. In the few hours since their invasion of Delmak, his Chiefs had managed to secure various strategically valuable sites. They were steadily gaining ground and inching ever closer to Sokar's palace – the only place yet to pose any sort of significant resistance.

It was hardly surprising, in his opinion. Much like under the Goa'uld of his own time, the Jaffa and slaves only served out of fear and delusion. Remove the oppressor, and all that remained was an unorganized and confused band of people, who knew not what to do with their newfound freedom.

Regardless of how cruel or dystopian their original way of life had been, most would swiftly submit and adapt to whomever else possessed the most power and authority. In a twisted way, even that was considered better than wandering around aimlessly with no purpose or sense of order.

Shezmu recalled the early years in the Garden's history, before the founding of Aaru. It had been a time of scarce resources and misery, when his people had yet to work out the quirks of their new habitat and limited existence. Even he had briefly fallen into a state of depression, before squaring up and devoting himself to his role as a god more profoundly than ever before.

"My Lord?"

Seshem broke the silence once more, forcing him to abandon his frequent habit of daydreaming. She stood opposite him, only a few feet away from his throne. Her amber eyes were filled with worry, something he had been noticing more often as of late.

"Forgive me." he replied, before motioning toward Apophis. The Serpent Lord eyed him curiously, approaching Shezmu slowly as he was beckoned to do so.

"Stand with me. We shall speak to the people of Delmak together."

Apophis could barely blink before a yellow light encompassed them both, projecting their image into the air high above the ship.

"Jaffa! Slaves! All loyal servants of the Goa'uld Sokar, hear me! I am Shezmu, leader of the forces currently occupying your world."

He reached down into the bowl beside him, grasping hold of the dead symbiote within and raising it above his head.

"Your god is dead, by my hand! From this day forth, you shall no longer suffer a life of agony and despair. Indeed, from this day forth, you shall serve me and see your world led into an age of peace and prosperity!"

Shezmu brought his arm down, taking hold of the symbiote with both hands. He clenched it firmly, holding back a wince at the look of horror on his First Prime's face, once she understood what he was about to do.

After a moment of hesitation, he tore it in two, before biting viciously into the upper half and devouring it whole. The process took more than a moment, and he took no pleasure in the raw, bitter taste filling his mouth.

It had been a very long time since Shezmu last indulged in the ancient Goa'uld practice, and he did not miss it in the slightest.

"Beside me stands my brother, Apophis, who shall be acting as the ruler of Delmak in my stead."

The other half of the symbiote was handed to Apophis, who now stared at him in a mixture of shock and glee. Apophis then proceeded to devour it, too, and wiped his cheek clean with his arm.

"The blood of your former master runs through our veins." said the Serpent Lord, revealing the true purpose of the cannibalistic ritual. "By right of conquest, all that was once his now belongs to us! Serve us well, and you shall be greatly rewarded."

As they voiced their final platitudes and farewells, Shezmu could only hope he had made the right decision. It was a mighty gamble, delegating command to someone most certainly not worthy of his trust.

Yet, it could also be a step in the right direction.

* * *

Sokar had truly been a man with a one-track mind, thought Shezmu, as he strode down something which could barely be called a street.

There was little in the way of infrastructure, at least outside of huge, towering facilities designed to produce the greatest army the galaxy had ever seen. He had yet to find a single home, a paved road or anything that was not industrial in nature.

All he could see and hear were the thousands of slave laborers still hammering away at whatever they constructed – the few close enough to catch a glimpse of him walking by quickly doubling their efforts in fear.

The fact that many of his own Jaffa stood guard amongst them, some in the midst of restraining and subjugating remnants of Sokar's forces, did not help the idea of a peaceful invasion. It was a notion Shezmu would have to change in time, once order had been established.

For now, there was a much more pressing matter.

Following his and Apophis' announcement, the two lords had decided to assemble a squadron of Jaffa and join the offensive. The palace would not capture itself, and apparently Medes had been struggling more than anticipated.

For the first time since his promotion, the Chief of Defense had contacted the bridge and requested reinforcements. Curious to find out what might have caused one of his most talented subordinates such trouble, Shezmu felt it best to aid him personally.

Seshem, now covered from head to toe in golden armor, walked proudly by his side.

"Ah, there it is." she said; voice muffled by her helmet. "Look, my Lord! On the top of that hill, we're not far away now."

He followed her outstretched finger, and spotted the palace. It was large, as expected of any mighty Goa'uld. From afar, Shezmu was reminded of the many temples Ra ordered to be erected throughout his domain.

Unlike the temples of Ra, however, Sokar's chosen residence appeared far more sinister in nature. Much like a ziggurat, it boasted tall, twin staircases leading up to the palace gates. Several torches were spread out across its walls, dimly lit and enveloping most of the structure in a noxious, pinkish haze.

"Beware the many traps and devices within." said Apophis, who until now had been trailing after them silently. It was strange, considering the god had never been one for discretion or humility.

The information was nevertheless welcome, and Shezmu raised an arm to bring the squad of marching Jaffa behind him to a halt. They had reached the base of the palace, where many of his men were already stationed on high alert.

"M-My Lord!" exclaimed one of the warriors upon noticing him. The man approached him hastily; a tired yet desperate expression on his face. "We've been pushed back entirely!"

"Calm yourself, child." he replied. "I require a briefing on our current situation."

"That's just it! We tried getting inside, it's just… They're just too many! A-And now, Chief Medes decided to launch a last-ditch infiltration mission to get behind enemy lines. We've not heard from him in over an hour!"

Shezmu sighed, running his hands through his hair exasperatedly.

Medes, for all his genius, was an overachiever. In his ambition, he often failed to notice the hundreds of people looking up to him for leadership. He worked best alone, from a position of knowledge and control, playing their enemies for fools while guiding soldiers and operatives to safety.

That was one of the reasons why he had been made Chief of Defense, over any other position.

"We must go after him, my Lord." said Seshem, much to the pleasure of the other Jaffa, and the chagrin of Apophis.

"It is waste of time and effort. I would have the palace destroyed from orbit."

"Yes, you would. And what exactly have your tactics earned you, Lord Apophis?" snarked Seshem. "A fall from grace, a disfigured face… Why, I could even write poetry of your failure."

"Silence, both of you." hissed Shezmu, hoping to prevent his fragile alliance from falling apart embarrassingly early. Apophis was already growling with barely restrained anger.

"I am not leaving anyone behind, nor do I believe Medes has been compromised."

The warrior, who had been looking cautiously between Seshem and Apophis during their exchange, straightened up and bowed.

"Very well, my Lord. In that case, what are your orders?"

* * *

Shezmu granted Apophis command of Medes' squadron, to make up for Seshem's scornful remark. He did not believe the Serpent Lord would squander his trust just yet, and he was interested in observing Apophis' military prowess.

Meanwhile, he signaled to the handful of Jaffa beside him to ready their weapons.

The first few energy blasts could be heard, and soon enough the sky lit up in a haunting display of bright, yellow light. If it were not for the pained screams and yells accompanying it, as well the pungent smell of ozone, it might have even been beautiful.

"Now!" he ordered, and the sudden, combined force of twenty staff weapons impacted against the palace walls. Tons of stone blew apart instantly, creating an opening large enough to comfortably pass through.

A once grand, yet eerie courtyard now played host to the most horrifying carnage Shezmu had witnessed since his banishment. Flesh was being burnt and torn asunder, and all he could see were his soldiers – the very same he had sworn to protect – brutally slaying their enemies or dying an agonizing, drawn-out death in a pool of their own blood.

His ambush proved successful, however, as he and his men quickly joined the fray. Several of Sokar's Jaffa were caught by surprise; struck from behind and shot down mercilessly. One particularly unfortunate Jaffa had stumbled within reach, alive despite the gaping hole in his chest.

Shezmu grasped hold of the warrior's head, frying his brain with a short discharge of electricity from his Kara'kesh.

In the distance, Apophis roared; the god's form an embodiment of the chaos his mythos perpetuated. He had already stormed the gates, drawing most of the attention to himself and his troops, which only added to the effectiveness of the ambush.

Shezmu was pleased to see him in the front lines, battling fearlessly like the Goa'uld of old.

Many of his kind had grown into cowards over the ages, too comfortable with their power and status. In the time of Apep, when the Goa'uld first set out into the stars, they had no choice but to war and conquer with their bare hands – the thought coinciding with his fist smashing violently into another Jaffa's unprotected face.

Back then, there was little technology to aid them, and even fewer slaves to act as meat shields. It had required strategy and perseverance, and not an inconsiderable amount of bravery. Sadly, such notions seemed beyond most of them now.

A loud, rumbling explosion caught his attention, and Shezmu held his balance as the ground began to shake. He grinned viciously upon seeing Seshem lead her forces through the opposite wall.

Two ambushes were better than one, and together, their added reinforcements began to slowly mow down Sokar's ever-diminishing troops.

His First Prime soon joined him, and they stood back to back encircled by mutilated bodies and approaching enemies.

"Well, well… You've been busy." she said jokingly, parrying an overhead blow sent her way.

"What took you so long?"

He could practically feel her glare, as he did every time she was teased.

"Someone…" she began, punctuating the word with a blast to her opponent's leg, "…couldn't be bothered to coordinate their ambush!"

Shezmu laughed; a sound which came out far colder in the midst of battle.

"Seshem, surely you know me by now! It is all part of the plan!"

* * *

"There, that should be enough." said Shezmu, having finished healing a rather grievous wound on one of his warriors' shoulders.

He sighed, looking around and taking in the massive number of casualties this relatively minor skirmish had caused. His soldiers were well-trained, that he knew, but they had rarely applied their skills in practice before.

Sokar's forces, on the other hand, were much used to war and conflict. The tyrant had been steadily expanding his reach, conquering worlds and amassing both Jaffa and several new underlords.

"T-Thank you!" gasped the healed man, clutching his now intact shoulder in amazement.

Shezmu nodded, and motioned to a small group of Jaffa nearby.

"Search the battlefield." he ordered. "There may be more survivors amidst the rubble. See to their medical needs and have those fatally injured brought to the sarcophagus."

"At once, my Lord." they chorused, hurrying to comply with his command.

With the exception of soft footsteps, a deathly silence had now filled the courtyard. Quite literally, thought Shezmu, as he stepped over and around numerous corpses.

At the far end of the courtyard stood the palace doors, now unprotected by enemy forces. The grand entrance was framed and engraved with hieroglyphs, and as Shezmu traced one of the lines with his fingers, he noticed a particular passage – the likes of which he had not seen for eons.

' _Hearken, mortal, and be warned. Herein lies the sixth chamber of the Duat, the Kingdom of Osiris, Lord of the Underworld.'_

"The Duat?" asked Seshem; the top of her leonine helmet peeking over his shoulder in curiosity. "I thought it was only a legend."

He shook his head, while Apophis scoffed disdainfully. "There are no such things as legends, woman. Sokar was once a servant of Osiris, much like your own master."

Unhappy about that piece of lost history coming to light, Shezmu focused his emotion into his Kara'kesh, and sent a wave of kinetic energy at the tightly shut doors.

They buckled and caved, but remained whole nevertheless.

"Is it true, my Lord?" asked Seshem, appearing not angry, but shocked at the revelation. Osiris did not have a particularly endearing reputation, what with his cruel judgement and unfair treatment of both Jaffa and humans.

He had been the kind of deity to take pleasure in mindless slaughter, all the while posing as a judge of the dead. Unfortunately, he very rarely deemed his victims worthy of a merciful end, preferring to repeatedly murder and revive them as a form of eternal punishment.

Another blast of energy struck the doors, this time strong enough to blow them completely off their hinges.

"That was a long time ago. Before I realized that our way was not the only way."

* * *

The trio made their way inside the palace, surrounded on all sides by Jaffa. Shezmu's warriors had insisted on it, and nothing he said could change their minds.

It was almost amusing, he thought. For all of their respect and obedience, there were some things even he could not preside over.

The entrance hall was surprisingly bright, all things considered. Light shone from all directions, tinted red by the various gems and crystals adorning almost every surface. The floor was sleek and golden, in line with traditional Goa'uld architecture, and each step they took seemed to echo on forever.

A sudden snap had them jumping in surprise, though Shezmu and Apophis would deny it vehemently, if asked. One of the more trigger-happy Jaffa sent a blast down the hallway, which splashed uselessly against a wall before dissipating.

On the bright side, they now knew the corridor had an end.

"I have a bad feeling about this." said Seshem, and no sooner than the words left her lips did a set of transportation rings drop down from above. Shezmu was shoved aside by his First Prime, and sent painfully crashing into the floor alongside Apophis.

"No! Watch out!" he yelled, all in vain, as two of his men were caught between the device.

With impotent fury and sadness, he could only watch as the poor soldiers were steadily crushed again and again; the many descending rings striking them repeatedly until they were fully severed in two.

After an agonizingly long time, the rings finally receded; the accompanying light dying out to reveal a single figure.

It was a woman, dressed in naught but a light, violet gown. Half her head had been shaved clean; every inch not hidden behind long, dark hair instead covered with tattoos of rather morose hieroglyphs.

As virtually every Jaffa aimed their staff weapons toward her, a sick and twisted smile spread out across her pale face. Shezmu could feel both Seshem and Apophis stiffening beside him, the former gasping at something she had seen.

The newcomer's left arm had been stripped bare of all flesh, leaving only a slack limb of bones hanging uselessly against her side. The joints had been replaced with metal, fusing each individual bone together.

"Greetings." she spoke, in a raspy whisper. It was a voice which sent chills down everybody's spine; the result of having screamed one's throat raw under the most excruciating of torture.

"I am Nitocris the Third, Divine Adoratrice to the mighty Sokar, he who is Lord of Restau."

Giving Shezmu no time to process her words, Nitocris tilted her head to the side, locking eyes with an ashen-faced Apophis. Somehow, her smile managed to grow even wider.

"And welcome back, my dear Lord. I have looked forward to continuing our sessions. The sarcophagus has been misspent in your absence, and my chambers so silent without your screams."

With everyone shocked still at what they had just witnessed, no one reacted when the demonic priestess reached down and grasped hold of her skeletal hand. She bent it backward until it snapped, releasing a dark mist into the hall.

Shezmu felt himself immediately growing dizzy; unable to stop himself from hitting the floor shortly thereafter. The last thing he heard before losing consciousness was the sound of frenzied weapons fire, along with Nitocris' crazed, maniacal laughter.

At the very least, he finally understood what had inspired such undying, uncompromisable loyalty from the final bunch of Sokar's Jaffa.

Nitocris would not be an easy foe to overcome.

* * *

Next chapter: -Arc 1: A Soul Split in Two-


	6. Arc 1: A Soul Split in Two

Shezmu planted his clawed paw firmly on the mortal's cheek, driving it further down into the wooden block.

"P-Please!" it begged, struggling to look up at him from below. "Have mercy!"

He pressed even harder in response, relishing in the power he held over lower lifeforms. The human's skull was beginning to cave in; the sound of bones cracking and organs squelching music to his ears.

Eventually reaching a breaking point, his foot pushed through, bursting the head open with a loud pop. A mixture of blood and other fluids splattered across the temple floor, and Shezmu sneered in open disgust.

A round of laughter could be heard, and he turned around to face the assembled group of Goa'uld. At the very front stood Osiris, currently inhabiting a green-skinned humanoid of some kind. He had an unhealthy habit of discarding and adopting different hosts at random, but Shezmu did not mind.

Osiris was his liege, and his cheers were by far the loudest. That meant he had done well, and that was all that mattered.

At Osiris' side stood Isis, the beautiful queen of his Lord. Ra and Egeria stood similarly nearby; the former gracing him with a satisfied yet imperious gaze. Egeria, on the other hand, merely stared dispassionately.

He could never quite get a read on the woman. She was no doubt a loyal servant of Ra, yet seemed so different from him in every possible way.

Shezmu was almost offended. Ra was without question the greatest Goa'uld to have ever lived, having avenged Apep and driven out the scourge that was Anubis. Following that, he had established the High Council of System Lords, cementing their rule over the galaxy for millennia to come.

Why anyone would choose not to follow such an example was beyond him.

Upon meeting the eye of the final person attending the gathering, he shuddered involuntarily. Hathor ogled him hungrily, and Shezmu remembered the last time the prospective queen had demanded his attention.

It had not been a bad night, by any means, but he was not ready to relive that experience just yet. It was therefore welcome when Osiris stepped forward, cutting off his view of the nymphomaniacal goddess.

"Well done, my friend!" he exclaimed joyfully. "Truly, your executions are unrivalled amongst all of my servants."

Shezmu always found it ironic that he would be the one staring down at Osiris, and not the other way around. His Sekhmet host was tall, towering above even Unas in height, and he knew of many other Goa'uld who would perceive such a thing as a slight.

"Thank you. I live to serve."

It was his duty; his sole purpose for existing – one whose role was exclusively to dispose of whomever his master deemed unworthy of life.

"Indeed."

It was now Ra who spoke; his eyes glowing brightly as he did so. "Osiris tells me of your great loyalty, and the noble deeds you perform in the name of the Ennead."

Shezmu dared not speak out of turn, not even to express his humble gratitude. He instead attempted to convey his emotions wordlessly, hoping that the Supreme System Lord would understand.

"In recognition of this great service…" Ra continued, "…you are hereby granted the rank of minor Goa'uld. A portion of the System Lords' combined might shall be bestowed unto you, along with two precious worlds."

He could not believe what he was hearing. It was unheard of for anyone to climb their ranks so quickly. Even Osiris himself had spent many millennia as an underlord to Isis, before gaining enough influence to rule by his own right.

Ra smiled graciously, evidently pleased by his stunned reaction. Despite that, the deity's eyes hinted at something more.

"Before the official ceremony can proceed, however, you must first perform one final rite."

The doors to the temple were pushed open, and a group of slaves made their way inside. On their backs they carried a large cage, housing a filthy, disheveled and bruised human female.

The cage was dumped on the floor with a distinct lack of courtesy, and the woman inside cried out in pain. The slaves then immediately dropped to their knees, prostrating themselves before the many gods and goddesses present.

Ra laughed, which prompted the other Goa'uld to do the same. When he eventually fell silent, his soft features morphed into that of a vicious rage.

"See!" he proclaimed. "This is the fate that awaits all who oppose me!"

Shezmu took a closer look at the woman, taking note of her oddly familiar features. Despite her injuries, he could clearly discern her rounded cheeks, chestnut hair and deep, amber eyes. She must have caught his stare, because she began to desperately plead for her life.

That brought about another round of laughter, though surprisingly not from him. He could not even bring himself to sneer, as he usually would when subject to such a pathetic sight.

"Ami-Pet-Seshem-Neterit." spoke Ra. "You, who once served as God's Queen of Amun. You, who were once my Lo'taur, my most trusted servant. You, who chose to abuse that trust and betray me!" he continued; his voice growing ever louder with anger.

"I brand you shol'va! May you die an ignoble death, and your name be forever forgotten!"

Even as the King of Gods turned back toward him, ordering him to execute the traitorous servant in the most brutal and degrading of manners, Shezmu could not bring himself to move.

Seshem.

That part of the name rang in his mind, echoing on and on as though imploring him to remember something. All the while, he could hear the excited chanting of the Goa'uld in the background, spurring him on to act.

He clenched his fists, for some reason still hesitating. The priestess kept on begging; tears welling up in her eyes. Shezmu was shocked to discover that his first instinct was to help her, to wipe the tears away and comfort her.

It was beyond his understanding, and an utterly stupid thing to do, but with a mighty, leonine roar, he spun around and leapt at Ra. The shocked god could not even raise his hands in defense before a sharp set of fangs latched onto his neck.

Shezmu ripped and tore, shredding both throat and symbiote apart in a bloody mess. He barely even noticed his surroundings twist and swirl; distorted by a thick, black fog until only darkness remained.

* * *

"My Lord." a voice whispered. "My Lord! Please, wake up!"

Shezmu's eyes shot open, meeting the distressed and upset face of his First Prime. His mind was racing; the recent memories still fresh and agonizingly clear.

"Where… Where are we?" he asked, blinking as he struggled to make out her face amidst the bright, white light.

"The ship, of course!" said Seshem. "You do remember what happened at the palace, right?"

He did, for better or for worse. Whatever substance that mist had contained, it was powerful enough to invoke a very realistic hallucination. Goa'uld were not as easily affected by chemicals as other organisms, and the fact that it had been so effective scared Shezmu more than he would like to admit.

"Yes. That priestess, Nitocris. Where is she?"

Seshem smirked triumphantly. "It seems she was caught by one of the Jaffa's stray blasts. Once a few of us regained consciousness, we immediately apprehended her. That's when we brought you to the ship, as well."

Her expression turned slightly uncomfortable. "You seem to have been affected far worse than the rest of us." she explained, before shaking her head.

"Actually, no, that's wrong. I don't think Apophis has woken up yet. He doesn't stop twisting and shaking… I really don't know what's going on with him."

Shezmu did, if it was anything similar to what he had experienced. The worst part about the ordeal was that it had been so real. Those events – they had truly happened, once upon a time. They were some of his worst memories; his worst fears.

The only difference was that he had actually slaughtered that woman, not saved her. He had committed unspeakable acts, rendering her both physically and mentally broken before devouring her alive.

Bringing that memory to the forefront of his mind served as a poignant reminder. He was not a good person.

"I must see her." he decided, struggling his way out of the sarcophagus. Stumbling dizzily, Shezmu steadied himself against his First Prime. Willing the transportation rings to descend around him, he had them both transported to the ship's holding cells.

They were greeted to the sound of pained screams; Nitocris' frail body spasming as she was repeatedly struck with a Rod of Anguish.

Shezmu's lips curled; he had truly grown to detest that particular instrument over the ages.

Yellow light seemed to leak out of her eyes and mouth, and despite the woman's actions he could not bring himself to condone the punishment.

"Enough." he ordered, and the Jaffa administering the torture backed away. His expression was one of disbelief, however, as he turned toward his god.

"But my Lord! Surely, she must suffer for her transgressions? For what she has done to you?!"

Shezmu eyed the warrior strangely. "Torture is not our way." he eventually replied.

It had not been their way for a long time, nor would it ever be again. He could understand the Jaffa's sentiments – it had been a long time since anyone caused them any significant harm, let alone him. Nevertheless, they would have to stay true to their ideals, lest the past repeat itself once more.

"Yes, my Lord. Of course. Please forgive me."

He nodded and made his way over to the whimpering priestess. The cell was not large, and stripped bare of any amenities. Only primitive chains held Nitocris in place, locked around her limbs and holding her tightly against the wall.

Despite her sobs, she still managed to raise her head in defiance; a facsimile of her previous, wicked smile rearing its face.

"Weak." she croaked. "You're weak… pathetic… a coward. Not worthy of your divinity."

Shezmu saw her words for what they were – a futile attempt at baiting him into some foolish action. She wanted him to run out of patience; to revert to his most basic instincts and punish her for her insolence.

Why, he did not know, but he would grant the woman no such pleasure.

"How dare you?!"

It was not he, but Seshem who had uttered the words. He had never seen her this angry, fury and contempt marring her otherwise beautiful features.

Something was not right.

When Seshem suddenly grabbed the Rod from her fellow Jaffa, shoving it violently into Nitocris' side, his suspicions became a certainty.

Shezmu allowed the torture to continue, taking note of his surroundings. At first glance, they appeared just as he would expect. The closer he looked, however, the more distorted it seemed.

A corner of the cell looked blurry; a spot on the wall too dark. He could not quite make out the face of this other, nameless Jaffa.

It was right, yet not.

"Enough, Seshem. I will be dealing with her myself."

The giddy, malicious grin on his First Prime's face only served to betray her false identity.

He raised his hand, bringing his Kara'kesh only inches away from Nitocris' forehead. Beads of sweat ran down her skin, and she appeared only seconds away from death.

"Yes…" she managed to whisper, shaking uncontrollably once the device began to affect her mind.

"You know…" said Shezmu coyly, watching as a thin thread of light connected his hand to her head. "I am not exactly sure how this drug of yours functions. As such, my only remaining course of action is to stick to what I do know."

He smiled when Nitocris' seemingly victorious expression faltered, and continued.

"My Kara'kesh allows me to form a telepathic link with your mind. Of course, you could die in the process, but that would be an acceptable tradeoff for the knowledge you are hiding."

The priestess' eyes now widened in alarm, and she suddenly struggled with far more strength than a tortured prisoner should be capable of. Even her dead, skeletal arm yanked fruitlessly against the cold, metal chains.

"Unfortunately for you, this is my mind. My party, you might even say. I know my ship, I know my Jaffa and most importantly, I know my First Prime."

His sarcophagus was supposed to be used by many injured Jaffa at this time, not be left unattended. There were no Rods of Anguish left within his domain. His Jaffa did not indulge in mindless torture, nor did Seshem throw angry fits.

Actually, thought Shezmu, she did – but in a different way.

He was therefore not surprised to see both Seshem and the other warrior going limp; their postures drooped. Nitocris must have abandoned all hopes of entertaining her charade, in favor of a real threat.

The opaque, orange beam of light linking his hand to the priestess' head shone ever deeper, and more information flowed into Shezmu's mind.

The drug was known as the Breath of Sokar, similar to the Blood of Sokar but more practical in its application. It could be used to subdue a large number of enemies simultaneously, forcing them to relive or undergo various horrific events.

Like the Blood of Sokar, this drug could also induce controlled hallucinations if one possessed the appropriate equipment.

Ironically, the easiest way to leave the dream was to find one's own slumbering body, merging with it once more. It mirrored the tale Osiris once had his servants believe – that each deceased soul was split in two, and only by finding their way together again could one tread on into the afterlife.

Perhaps Sokar had let himself be inspired.

Nitocris was now frothing at the mouth, and Shezmu finally deactivated his Kara'kesh. He spared the priestess one final, pitying glance before turning on his heel, transporting himself to the bridge.

Knowing that this reality was yet another vision, he then grinned, filled with a sudden spark of mischief. Ramming a spaceship was something he had always wanted to do, and now, without any consequences, he had the perfect target.

Sokar's palace.

* * *

Shezmu awoke, for the third time, and this time he knew it was no vision. Every dream seems real whilst one is a part of it, yet when one is truly awake, there is a certain clarity to the world – a clarity that no dream can reproduce.

The first thought that came to his mind was to find Seshem, his Jaffa and Apophis. In that order, he thought slightly guiltily, but paid it little heed.

Someone had moved his body from where he had first lost consciousness. No longer was he flat on his back somewhere in the palace halls, but instead in a rather well-ornated bedchamber.

With a start, Shezmu realized there was a figure next to him, and moved to shove it aside. Nitocris had been lying beside him, her living arm resting against his chest. Just as before, he saw foam seeping out of the corner of her lips.

Meddling with the mind was a dangerous practice.

On her temple he could spot a memory recall device, which she had used to enter and manipulate his visions. He took hold of the small, round piece of technology and pulled, dislodging it from her head.

It was a particularly nasty device; one which Shezmu felt more than justified in confiscating.

Just as he was about to exit the room, he heard a shudder and a raspy breath, and sighed. Somehow, the priestess had just barely managed to cling onto life.

Lesser men would have left her behind, and better men would put her out of everyone's misery, including her own.

Truthfully, he did not particularly care whether Nitocris lived or died, so long as she did not cause any further harm. He had glimpsed more from her than just the very latest memories, and knew of the fate that befell her.

Born to the Necropolis Guard, Sokar's most notorious Jaffa, her life had been spelled out for her from the very beginning. She had only two choices – serving as a warrior or as a priestess. Needless to say, neither were particularly appealing when it came to Sokar.

Her bodily sacrifices were in fact among the least horrible things she had been subjected to.

Not for the first time, Shezmu could only hope he was making the right decision. He walked back to the bed and slung the half-dead priestess over his shoulder, before hurrying back out of the chamber.

He had yet to regroup with his soldiers, and hoped that they would find their way out of their own visions. Shezmu immediately grimaced at the thought, recalling Nitocris' dance with fate, and hastened his steps.

If any of his servants' minds failed them, he did not believe he could forgive himself.

* * *

Next chapter: -Arc 1: Preserving a Dying Soul-


End file.
